On Being Brother (Part I)

      It's fall, and my neighbour's daughter, heading to university, packs 17 years of her life into the trunk of her dad’s van . Her efforts have jogged old, tender memories of a similar day in 1975.

     I was leaving home at last. Life away from mom and dad and homemade rules and responsibilities. I couldn't wait for the late nights, the untidy bedrooms, the weekend romps, and the independence. Cutting the proverbial apron strings wouldn’t pose too much of a problem for me, and to say that I was itching to go would be an understatement.

As it turned out, my brother, Chris, and I were departing for University in the same year. He would be attending Guelph while I made Carleton my home and it had been decided that we would travel south together. After wading through mom's tears, we headed down the highway in "the Ghost", our old, bent-and-beaten green Chevrolet Biscayne station wagon. As we drove, I exuberantly lectured my brother on the new life to which we would soon be living, not being receptive to the nuances within his silence. I just presumed that he was too excited to say anything.

When I look back, I can't particularly remember Chris saying much on the trip, but I must have believed or, perhaps, deluded myself into thinking that he was just being himself; a little more introverted than Mark and me and a little less likely to share his feelings. Maybe my enthusiasm was a bit overwhelming, and maybe, in retrospect, I should have been more sensitive and provided him with an opening to share his thoughts.

     When we arrived at Guelph University late that night, we found his accommodations fairly easily, and we bunked down for the evening. I was starting my new life in the morning. When we awoke, I stuck around while Chris registered – a long process for those who have been through it – and was about ready to leave. Only one task remained: to find the Bank of Nova Scotia where Chris would settle his financial matters.

     I remember walking with Chris into the University Centre where the bank was housed. We were greeted with a cold welcome in an immense, impersonal hall. I think it was then that I first became aware of something that had escaped me early. For the first time, I saw a sadness in his eyes that betrayed his true feelings. I realized that my baby brother was afraid.

     All my life, Chris had been there - in the same bedroom, in the classroom next door, serving on the altar at Sacred Heart Church - and now, things were changing. We were, truly, becoming adults. And yet, childhood yearnings tethered our hearts pulling us back to those things that were comfortable and known. I knew that this wasn’t going to be as easy for Chris as it had been for Mark and me, and yet, I was at a loss for what to do.

     I looked at him and every protective instinct I ever held for Chris welled up within me, and I wanted to reach over, put my arm around him, and tell him that everything would be all right – but, of course, I didn't.

     Instead, I said that it was time that I left. I departed with a few light, hearty comments intended to temporarily appease his loneliness and to hide my own emotions. He looked up at me, embraced me, and bid me farewell. No other words were shared, and yet, in that fleeting moment of physical contact, I felt, as Morley Callaghan put it, “…all the years of [his] life…” and, to that point in my life, the most difficult thing that I had ever done, I did then - I let go of him.

     I walked to the doors leading out of the building and turned to look at Chris. There he stood, outside of the bank, small in the halls immensity, shoulders lowered, scared and alone - and I felt helpless in my capacity to make it better for him.

     Of course, Chris was successful at accommodating himself to his new world, and, of course, it was just the first in a series of adversities that we all face in life. And, of course he has been utterly successful since.

     But the scars of those few moments at Guelph University remain with me to this day. They are scars that carry with them a certain pain in their remembrance, but they are also scars that remind me of how much I really love my brother. And I wouldn't change the agony of those moments for all the treasures on earth.

     And I continue to watch my neighbour's daughter sort through all those years.

On High School Reunions

I was standing in the hallway of the new TH&VS early on Friday morning preparing for the inevitable traffic of excited "reunionists" when a gentleman came up to me and asked if he was too early to register. I said, "Of course not," and moving to the registration desk, asked his last name. He said "Ward. John Ward."

Well, I looked at him, and I said, "John? It's me. Paul Toffanello," to which he replied "Tuffy! How are you?" We hugged.

There is a moment early in the recognition process where your brain happily seeks out information and clues in a game-like process to identify features and voice signals that serves the memory to satisfaction. I swear, it is an exciting process, because there is a joy in the recognition that brings true meaning to the concept of "reunion." A joy that one can only experience in the trepid moments of meeting people who you are afraid you won't recognize. As with me and John Ward.

In our brief reunion, we tried to share the 40 years in between our last encounter - an encounter as friends in high school. Accomplishments. Children. Careers. Location. Successes. Dreams realized and otherwise. So much in such a short time frame, but I realized then that we hold these kinds of memories in treasured confidence, and in the first moments of "reunion" it all just seems to come out like an unexpected geyser, one shared treasured memory after another.

Reunions let you celebrate the connection between those who have been part of your life - no matter how small a part - and reflect on the significance of these relationships. John and I were never best friends, and we didn't hang around a lot together, but we had a strong connection nonetheless - one that celebrated friendship, kinship, trust, respect, and, most importantly, shared memories of a brief time of engagement in our lives. It was a time of growing up, a time of transitioning from teenagers to young adults, a time of pulling away from our parents and home and dreaming of a future that would hold nothing but success and prosperity.

Of course, we all know what happens next. Life. In its best form, it provides us with experiences of joy and sorrow, defeat and success, celebration and tragedy. On balance, none of us escapes life's offerings. But a reunion seems to offer a brief respite from all of that; a moment in time where, despite the challenges of being human, we can appreciate one another for who we are, who we have become and how very important we are to one another.

At the last reunion in 2000, I had the opportunity to address a longstanding regret with someone who was a very important person in my life; a regret that lingered for more than 25 years. The reunion offered me that moment in time to be with this person, to apologize for the hurt that I had brought to the relationship, and to ask forgiveness - which was generously and magnanimously given. I continue to hold this person close to my heart, and would like to believe that we are friends, undisturbed now by grief.

In reflection of the weekend, I'd like to address the Social Media Generation, the majority of those absent from the reunion. It was said over and over again how social media - facebook, twitter, youtube, email, etc. - was likely the cause for so many alumni from the 1990's to present day to be missing from the ranks of the celebrants this past weekend. Whether we were all looking  to defend them, or, perhaps, looking to excuse them (because so many of them are, of course, our children), I have only one thing to say:

You can't possibly know what you missed this past weekend and how valuable an occasion it was!

By not engaging in the physical presence offered through a reunion, you miss the voice, the touch, the raised eyebrow, the laughter, the hugs, the sharing - all of the things that Facebook can't deliver in its unaffected silence. It is human contact at its very best. It is reaching out in a way that can only occur in reunion with one another, and it is a rare occasion to reflect on who your are, how far you've come and, perhaps, where you may be going in the months and years ahead.

I urge you, new generation, to connect  beyond the screen in front of you - the one that allows you to read this blog. Connect with those with whom you had shared a very short, yet significant time in high school - even those with whom you may not have had a relationship. These are the people who are, in large part, a measure of who you are today.

And to all those who participated in both the 2000 and 2012 TH&VS reunions, I say: Thank You! I miss you already. Stay in touch!

"Don't be dismayed at good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends."

Richard Bach